


A Most Ignoble and Scandalous Kind of Relation

by Knis



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knis/pseuds/Knis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atobe meets a spy with the ugliest white-and-brown jersey he’s ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Lissie ♥

Atobe Keigo, the captain of the prestigious Hyoutei Gakuen tennis team with over two hundred members, was looking out at the stands when instead he should have been focussed on the ongoing tennis practice. It wasn’t as much of a distraction as it was more of an annoyance of sorts. Certainly it wasn’t unusual for fans or tennis scouts to sit in the large arena and watch the practice. Who wouldn't be impressed by the prowess of the greatest tennis team in Japan?

…But when he spotted someone from a different school very obviously spying on them, Atobe Keigo had half a mind to snap his fingers and get his trusty companion Kabaji to throw the spy out.

“Shit, he’s here today too?” Shishido said, following Atobe’s line of vision. "It's the third day in a row."

Hiyoshi paused in the middle of his tennis swing. “He stopped me on my way to school this morning. He knew my name,” Hiyoshi said with his usual scowl. “He talked to me about transferring to a different school.”

“He spoke to me as well,” Choutarou said. “He gave me a brochure for St. Rudolph.”

“St. Rudolph?” Atobe asked. The name rang a bell. Obviously it wasn't a very important detail if Atobe couldn't remember a single thing about a school named St. Rudolph. This spy was chasing a lost cause because no one in their right minds would consider transferring to a school with such an ugly uniform. “Leave him. Let’s return to practice.” He snapped his fingers, bringing everyone’s attention back to the task at hand.

The spy bothered no one else for the remainder of the practice. When the practice was over and the team returned to the locker rooms, Atobe chanced a glance up into the stands and found it devoid of people save for two squealing girls. Atobe didn’t quite have the time to hope that was the last he’d hear of the spy when that hideous brown-and-white uniform-clad figure re-appeared, standing unabashed mere steps away from the locker room entrance.

“-has quite the splendid sports program as well, and of course the St. Rudolph tennis team is very renowned particularly in the Tokyo preliminaries. We are rising in the ranks and I do think a skilled tennis player such as yourself would have much to offer to our team-“

“Sorry, but I have no intention of transferring,” Shishido  said, looking rather annoyed as he manoeuvered around the spy and went on his way. The spy tsk’ed and twirled a lock of his hair around his finger.

“You’re quite bold to come all the way here to try to steal my players,” Atobe said, stepping directly into the spy’s line of vision. Besides the atrocious uniform, the spy had a mop of messy dark purple locks and a slimy smile that reminded Atobe of a reptile. “Or perhaps you’re simply annoying. I do think you’ve overstayed your welcome here.”

“Atobe Keigo,” breathed the spy. “Student council president and captain of the Hyoutei tennis team, a National level player who joined the team in his first year after having defeated all the regulars at the time.”

“I see you did your research.” Atobe’s mouth was set in a frown, one hand on his hip.

The spy chuckled. “Shall I recite your height, shoe size and tennis records as well?”

“I have a better idea. How about you spare me the discourse and use your widespread intellectia to find the exit?” Atobe snapped his fingers.”Kabaji, show him the door.”

A large figure appeared behind them, so intimidating that the spy took a step back from Kabaji. The spy put his hands up in surrender. “I can find the door myself, thank you,” he said. The spy left, after a few more looming steps from Kabaji.

“Let’s go Kabaji,” Atobe said. He was certain this was the last time he would be seeing the St. Rudolph spy at Hyoutei. At least that’s what he was hoping for Atobe had no particular desire to look upon that horrendous uniform ever again.

* * *

 

Atobe Keigo was a busy man. He had no idle time to waste in his hectic schedule, and he liked it that way. He awoke to the smell of whole roasted Arabic-imported coffee and freshly baked scones. His uniform was well-ironed and he picked his white smartphone on the way out. His hair was perfectly in place, not that it mattered for the parachute trip to school always messed it up considerably.

During first period, Atobe gave a speech in perfectly fluent German. Afterwards, he met with various other students in the student council room as they discussed the upcoming trip to England the first years would be taking in a month's time. His lunch was held in the gardens next to fuchsias and jade orchids as he sampled delicious goat fillet with a glass of Château Haut-Brion and a desert of gelée royale. His afternoon political science class was filled with a critical debate on the social criticisms between classical Marxism and neo-Marxism.  By that point his afternoon tea with Kabaji was very much needed.

“Would you like to accompany me to the concert tomorrow night, Kabaji?” Atobe asked, setting his gold-and-cobalt blue crown Staffordshire teacup upon its saucer. “It is an exhibition of early-Romanticism German composers. There will be Mendelssohn, Schumann, Mayer, and Wagner, of course.”

The grunt Kabaji gave him for a reply was a negative. Atobe had expected nothing different; Kabaji was not an avid fan of music in general. Atobe thought of inviting Jirou but that boy was more likely to fall asleep than anything.

“Sure, I’ll go,” Oshitari said when Atobe asked him at the beginning of afternoon practice. “You’ll pick me up in your limo I’m guessing?”

“Of course.”

“Please no fireworks this time, okay?”

“Fine.”

It was an uneventful practice. Juggling two hundred members was never easy, but a good portion of their members were in other clubs and didn’t show up to all the practices. Jirou managed to fall asleep in the middle of running laps, which made Mukahi trip, resulting in the redhead getting a rather ugly bruise along his forehead. Ootori and Shishido were off doing their own training and Atobe managed to get Oshitari to play a long match with him. There were no spies in the stands, only scores of students cheering them on. The sounds of the Hyoutei chant rang throughout the arena and resounded in their ears long after practice was over.

The following day was just as hectic, if not more so now that Atobe had a concert to attend. He was lucky Oshitari knew how to dress for these occasions. Had Jirou or Shishido been the ones to accompany him, Atobe would have had to bring an extra wardrobe for them. Oshitari wore a checkered shirt and vest that made him look five years older. As they sat in the limousine, Oshitari joked that he might be able to get away with ordering wine if the servers didn’t ask for identification.

The concert hall was illuminated with impressive chandeliers standing over the guests in the gallery. Ladies were dressed in elegant cocktail dresses, their heels clacking on the marble floor, and the men all sporting slick suits from the best designers. The walls held paintings, all of them from the same time period as the music they were about to hear. Oshitari got them both glasses of champagne and had the grace to look interested in the paintings as Atobe greeted a few older associates of his father's.

“We're the youngest ones here by at least ten years,” Oshitari said with a sigh after Atobe was done talking. “I do like older women, but this is a bit beyond my range, Atobe.”

They filled into a large opera-styled theatre. Atobe and Oshitari allowed a server to escort them up to their private booth. The seats were to the left of the stage and a bit higher than Atobe would have liked, but they would do.

Oshitari looked bored already. “How long will this concert be exactly?”

“Three hours.” Atobe flipped open the program template, skimming over the various pieces and noting his favorites. This orchestra and conductor had done a splendid job the previous year with the Baroque-Classical symphonies of the 17th century. Surely this concert would be just as marvelous.

He wasn’t disappointed. The concert began with a polite applause and an exquisite rendition Mendelssohn’s famous wedding march from _A Midsummer’s Night Dream_ , one of Atobe’s personal favorite plays. Oshitari sighed when it ended. By the time the orchestra got through Mayer, Oshitari was beginning to shift in his seat. By the time Chopin’s _Minute Waltz_ played, Oshitari was complaining.

“How much longer are they going to play this one? Do you think I can run to the washroom real quick?” Oshitari asked in a whisper. Atobe shushed him and shooed him away. As much as Atobe dreaded attending these events alone, solitude did sometimes have its merits since his friends never appreciated the beauty of classical-era art. Oshitari did like older music, but Oshitari’s idea of old was ballads from the 50s and screeching enka singers.

“You missed an impressive nocturne,” Atobe informed Oshitari afterwards. Oshitari had vanished to the washroom for half an hour before Atobe found him pacing around in the main gallery during the halfway point.

“What a pity, how will I ever live with myself now?” Oshitari said. Atobe decided he needed better friends; ones who would appreciate real music when they heard it. Right as he thought that, Oshitari broke off coughing from his second champagne glass and pointed to somewhere behind Atobe. “Isn’t that the guy who’s been spying on our practices?”

It was.

Only, Atobe took a second to recognize him. The spy was now dressed in a chic button-up with a freshly-ironed pair of slacks, however there was no mistakening those dark purple curls or that slithering smile that curved upon his lips when he spotted the two Hyoutei players. The spy waved at them from afar like they were old friends.

“Don’t tell me he’s stalking you,” Oshitari murmured into Atobe’s ear as the spy approached them.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the spy. “What a surprise to see the two of you here tonight.” He extended his hand towards Oshitari. “I don’t believe you and I have been acquainted yet. My name is Mizuki Hajime, I’m the manager of St. Rudolph’s tennis team.”

Oshitari shook his hand. “Pleasure. I’m-“

“Oshitari Yuushi, third year, member of the Hyoutei tennis team since your first year,” the spy Mizuki said and turned to look at Atobe. “And Atobe-kun of course.”

Atobe nodded in acknowledgement. “How surprising to see someone such as yourself at this type of concert,” he said. Though it wasn’t as if Mizuki was particularly out of place. Mizuki’s current shirt was teal with bits of floral patterns around the cuffs and hem. The colour was decent, Atobe thought, though the material itself was definitely discounted. Nonetheless, it was an improvement from that dreadful tennis uniform Mizuki wore last time.

“Nfu, I’ve been looking forward to this concert for months,” Mizuki said, pulling on one of his purple locks of hair. “The romanticism period truly was the enlightenment era of music. I’m particularly fond of the operas. I thought their interpretation of Flotow’s _Martha_ was quite exquisite.”

Oshitari shrugged. “I must’ve missed it… otherwise it really wasn’t all that _exquisite_.”

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, he’s not well-educated in this field,” Atobe said smoothly. “I do agree. They truly did justice to Flotow; it was amongst the best I’ve heard.” He smiled, leaning one hand on his hip. “I’m looking forward to how they handle Wagner in the second half.”

He didn’t expect Mizuki to nod in understanding. “Yes, I heard they would be playing Wagner’s _Siegfried_. For a German opera composer, Wagner’s works are quite rich and harmonious. I do vastly prefer the Italian operas, but the German ones are a bit of a guilty-pleasure of mine.” Mizuki returned the smile, raising his champagne glass and taking a sip.

It was around that time that Oshitari wandered off, but Atobe hardly noticed. It was the first time Atobe encountered someone even remotely close to his age who was also well-versed in centuries-old musical arts. Mizuki appeared equally intrigued, flashing Atobe a coy, expectant look over the rim of his drink.

“Italian, you say?” Atobe said. “I wager you’re a fan of Rossini?”

“Who isn’t?”

“Fair enough. However, you do strike me as the type who would be enthralled with Donizetti.”

That appeared to amuse Mizuki greatly. “Yes, I am quite a fan of his. How insightful of you,” he said, edging closer and twinning his lock of hair round and round his index finger. “Or perhaps you just got lucky?”

They spoke a while about the Italian operas and then sliding back into the German composers afterwards, then they somehow found their way into the French ones. Mizuki was indeed knowledgeable about all types of operas, slacking only a bit when the talk came to compositions. When the announcement came that the halfpoint break was over, Atobe was almost loathe to halt their conversation. Oshitari had wandered off and Atobe was willing to bet Oshitari wasn’t planning on going back to his seat up on the private pavilion.

“Come to my booth,” Atobe said. “Surely you’ll have a better view up there than being seated in those aisles.”

“How generous of you,” Mizuki said. “I’ll take you up on that. The man I was sitting next to had the most awful-smelling cologne, like a mixture of dead roses and detergent.”

Up in the booth, Mizuki took Oshitari’s seat like he belonged there. Mizuki made himself comfortable, crossing his legs and reclining back as those below filled into the crowded aisles.

“I do admit, the view up here hardly compares,” Mizuki commented. “The woman sitting in front of me had the ugliest, tightest dress I've ever seen. I can hardly believe what some people wear to these occasions.”

“Don’t get me started,” Atobe said, taking his own seat next to Mizuki. “I saw one of my father’s acquaintances downstairs wearing a silver Rolex with a vest that had gold buttons.” 

Atobe made his decision. He pulled out his smartphone as the lights dimmed and curtains opened to the sound of a forlorn ring of violin and cello. He slid the device over to Mizuki.

Mizuki barely even looked at it, tapping into it with his thumbs and sliding it back to Atobe mere seconds later. Atobe saw the number there and let out a satisfied little sigh. Then he leaned back and enjoyed the show.

* * *

 

“So how was your date?” Oshitari asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“It was hardly a date,” Atobe replied.

“Oh please. You were so excited to have found someone with similar music tastes. You were talking so much you didn’t even notice I had left,” Oshitari said with a roll of his eyes. “Now I’ll ask again; how was your date?”

Damn Oshitari and his love for gossip. The guy had probably gone and told the entire school by now. “We had a civilized discussion about classical music,” Atobe said.

“And?”

“And I exchanged numbers with him,” Atobe admitted.

“He must have been happy,” Oshitari said with a laugh. “They say that people play with their hair when they flirt with someone they like.”

“So?”

“Either Mizuki has a compulsive habit, or he’s interested in you.”

Atobe thought so too. How could Mizuki not be? Atobe was ridiculously good-looking, had incredible taste in the classical arts and was extremely intelligence. Many people were under the foolish impression that a person could not possibly be perfect but Atobe believed he was the living proof that such preposterous claims weren’t true.

As eager as Atobe was to discuss fine music with someone equally educated in the domain, Atobe was not about to appear desperate.

Atobe waited three days before he scrolled down his contacts list and stopped at Mizuki’s number. Even then Atobe did not call. He sent Mizuki a text, ordering him to come meet him at a small expensive café downtown the next day. Atobe was quite satisfied with himself and awaited a reply.

Mizuki never replied.

Even half a day later, Atobe heard nothing from Mizuki. He frowned at his phone multiple times but still the screen displayed no new messages. Atobe stubbornly resisted texting a second time until late that night. It was midnight when Atobe caved and sent a second text, thinking that perhaps his last one had been too forward. This time Atobe phrased it as a question: ' _Will you join me for brunch tomorrow at Café des Deux Moulins?'_  

In the morning, his inbox was still empty. Unfortunately Atobe had not thought to ask for Mizuki’s address therefore he could hardly abduct the boy with his helicopter. Fine. If Mizuki was set on ignoring him, then Atobe would not bother. Atobe still had reservations at the café so he showered, dressed himself and found himself silently seething the entire helicopter ride there.

“Welcome Atobe-sama, your table is right this way,” said the restaurant manager the second Atobe stepped foot inside Café des Deux Moulins. Atobe walked up the stairs, up to where a balcony overlooked a vast garden. It was the seat Atobe always reserved.

“Your companion has already arrived and ordered a drink for himself,” the restaurant manager added.

Atobe heard him at the same time he saw Mizuki seated at Atobe's usual table.

“Ah, there you are, Atobe-kun. I was wondering when you were planning on showing up. It’s awfully rude of you to invite me and then leave me waiting for twenty minutes,” Mizuki said, his slimy smile in place. He was wearing a shirt with diagonal strips and much more casual pants than the last time Atobe had seen him.

“What are you doing here?” Atobe asked.

“You invited me,” Mizuki said again, slowly this time. “You seem to be having a loss of memories. Sit down and relax, it’s a beautiful view up here.” He turned to the restaurant manager. “A second cup of tea for Atobe-kun, if you please.” Mizuki said it like he was a regular customer. The manager bowed and went on his way, not even stopping to ask Atobe if the choice was okay.

Atobe took his seat, mindful to keep his jaw from hanging open. “Normally when one receives an invitation, it is common courtesy to give a reply.”

“Normally when one sends invitations, it is common courtesy to ask rather than order someone to attend,” Mizuki replied.

The tea Mizuki ordered did end up being a good choice. Atobe wanted to enjoy his brunch despite the morning's rocky beginning. Atobe only had to remind himself of how fascinating their conversations had been last time. 

For the first hour, the date went well. They had an array of breakfast dishes before them, filled with boiled peppered eggs, buttered toast, pancakes dipped in genuine maple syrup, baked potatoes, and an impressive setup of fresh fruit. They re-lived through the concert, and Mizuki went on to tell Atobe of his favorite composers (most of them being Italian operas, though Mizuki had a soft spot for Brahms and did listen to modern music as well) while Atobe dropped countless praises for Wagner.

It all went downhill after that when their discussion turned towards literature.

Mizuki said something that had Atobe lowering his tea. Atobe levelled Mizuki down with a glare. “Excuse me?” he said, dangerously.

“I said I never understood the acclaim for Shakespeare,” Mizuki repeated. “His plots are unrealistic and utterly predictable. Not to mention his poems are _mediocre_ at best.”

“Shakespeare’s works are masterpieces,” Atobe said. “They continue to be recreated to this very day. Some people wouldn’t know true literature even if it slapped them in the face, obviously.”

“Yes, and some people believe that classics are flawless strokes of genius simply because they are old.”

“For his works to be continuously praised for over four centuries obviously means he _was_ a genius.”

“Oh please. His tragedies all end in the same way, his historical works are uncreative to say the least, and his comedies are far from being amusing. And they all end with over-the-top dramatic deaths,” Mizuki said, his voice rising.

Their argument continued, until patrons at other tables shot them irritated looks and the manager came to nervously tell them to quiet down. By that time Atobe was eager for the date to be over. Mizuki had his arms crossed and looked ready to dump the remainder of his tea on Atobe’s head.

* * *

 

Oshitari could not stop laughing but even that was better than the ugly snorts Mukahi was making. Atobe realized for the seven-hundredth time that he should definitely consider getting better friends.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Atobe said. He vowed to never again tell Oshitari any details of his life.

“That’s because you can’t see how grumpy you look right now,” Mukahi replied.

“You would be angry as well if your date proved to be utterly ignorant of the greatest works of literature of all time.”

“That’s what you get for fraternizing with the enemy,” Oshitari said. “I guess there won’t be a second date then?”

Atobe didn’t see why he would even want a second date after that disastrous fiasco. Atobe had no interest in mingling with some uncouth boy from a school unable to make the tennis Regionals. Really, he wasn’t interested! Atobe told himself that over and over and checked his phone multiple times, hovering his finger over Mizuki’s contact number.

He could still invite Mizuki... Not for a date, but for a chance to convince the boy that those negative preconceived notions of Shakespeare were completely groundless.

It was quite late by the time Atobe sent a text saying _‘Meet me at Shinjuku Gyoen tomorrow after school.’_ Atobe was smiling, tossing his phone to the side. He took his shower all the while thinking of how he would sway Mizuki to change opinions. Luckily, Atobe had full confidence in his skills of persuasion.

Atobe was not expecting a reply this time. It came as a surprise to him when he exited the washroom with a tower slung around his waist and saw a little red light flashing along the top of his phone. There was one message from Mizuki, only two words.

‘ _I’ll pass_.’

Atobe’s vision turned crimson. Pass? _PASS?_ Who did this guy think he was to decline the great Atobe Keigo’s invitation? Atobe was a hairsbreadth away from calling and giving Mizuki a piece of his mind. He caught himself on time and made himself calm down, lowering his phone. He shouldn't even be getting angry over this. It wasn’t like Mizuki was that great. Mizuki had horrible taste in schools and in literature, and he had a lizard face too. Atobe should just delete Mizuki’s contact number and be done with it.

Instead, Atobe found himself calling his driver and telling him to get ready to drive to some school called St. Rudolph tomorrow afternoon.

* * *

 

As Atobe sat in his limo, parked in front of St. Rudolph, he couldn’t help but think of how the students filling out of the school resembled a colony of tacky brown ants. Most of them stopped to look at the limo, whispering amongst themselves or wondering out loud why it was there.

The only person here with him was his trusty Kabaji, with whom Atobe was currently sharing a bottle of champagne with as they waited for that infuriating Mizuki to come out of practice. The very fact that Mizuki was making Atobe wait like this was not helping matters.

All these ants looked identical, but Atobe instantly spotted Mizuki the second the boy stepped into Atobe's line of vision. Atobe snapped his fingers and pointed in Mizuki’s direction. Kabaji “Usu”-ed and went to complete his task. Atobe sipped at his champagne, a fine Crystal Perignon from France,  as he watched Kabaji approach Mizuki. The St. Rudolph spy had others around him but they caused no problems when Kabaji grabbed Mizuki and hauled him over his shoulder. Mizuki struggled and yelled something that Atobe didn't quite catch. Kabaji carried Mizuki like the boy weighed no more than a feather. Kabaji inserted Mizuki inside the limo and even had the sense to remain outside and shut the door to give them some privacy.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mizuki demanded. His hair and uniform were dishevelled by that ordeal, giving him a rather obscene appearance. The anger was clear on his face, but more than that Atobe didn’t miss the way he looked around the limousine with fascination. Atobe smirked, willing to bet Mizuki had never been inside such a vehicle before in his life.

“Champagne?” Atobe asked and poured a bit into a slim crystal glass.

Mizuki surveyed the champagne wearily but still took it. “Do you normally kidnap people or are you that inept at flirting?”

“Only if that person is dead-set on playing hard-to-get.” Atobe winked.

The corner of Mizuki’s lips crooked upwards. “Well you’re not doing a very good job of convincing me you’re worth my time.” He leaned closer. “It’s such a pity. You had so much potential.”

“Maybe you’re the one that’s out of his league,” Atobe replied, edging his head close.

“Mm. I doubt it.” Mizuki drew back, right when Atobe smelled a hint of perfume “I do remember writing you that I was busy today," Mizuki said.

“Plans can be changed.”

“So they can,” Mizuki said. “Unfortunately, you’re not yet at the stage where you can move my schedule around to your liking, Atobe-kun. But…” He cocked his head to the side, as if considering something for a brief instant. “I am available tomorrow.”

Mizuki exited, leaving his champagne glass untouched.

* * *

 

The art museum was a promising place. At first Atobe was convinced the bits of disagreement from the last date had been nothing more than a fluke on an unlucky day. Atobe Keigo did _not_ have bad dates.

It had been quite some time since Atobe had last visited this art museum, but he remembered the pieces just fine. He was radiating with confidence as he walked with Mizuki, keeping his hand on Mizuki’s lower back for most of the way. This museum had an extraordinary selection of Venetian and high Renaissance paintings and sculptures, which was why it was among Atobe’s favorites (not counting the much more sophisticated museums in Europe, of course).

It went quite well at first. Atobe was able to expertly recite the art titles and artists by memory, and even managed to snake his hand around the curve of Mizuki’s hip.

At least it had been going well until Mizuki yawned.

“Can we please move on to a different section before I get bored to tears?” Mizuki said, an uninterested expression on his face and his finger worrying at a stand of hair. “Surely there’s an area dedicated to more modern artists somewhere in this museum?”

Atobe halted. Mizuki had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. “I have multiple paintings in my home,” Atobe said smoothly. “Particularly in my bedroom. Shall I show you sometime?”

“Charming.” Mizuki’s blank face was far from impressed at Atobe’s attempt at flirting. He shook Atobe’s hand off. “I’m certain I saw a sign for post-impressionist paintings somewhere around here.”

They ended up on the second floor. Atobe glared at every painting he saw in this area. The colours were flashy, the brushstrokes visible, and sometimes he had to squint to make sense of what was being depicted on a painting. It was more frustrating than anything and the majority of the paintings looked like lazy work rather than masterpieces in his eyes. Mizuki was enjoying every single second of this.

“Yes, I’ve always enjoyed looking at colourful geometric shapes,” Atobe sarcastically replied when Mizuki pointed at the most awful piece of cubism Atobe had ever seen. “It makes me feel like I’m a six year old in kindergarten again.”

Mizuki scoffed. “Must you be so insufferable?”

“I insist on it,” Atobe purred, tugging on Mizuki’s sleeve to bring him closer. “And I do believe the word you are looking for is remarkable.”

“Your ability to think so highly of yourself despite your horrendous taste in art is remarkable.”

Mizuki smelled of lavender today, the same colour as his attire. The shirt was made of smooth, unblemished cotton and was soft as Atobe ran his fingers up to Mizuki’s collar to touch the back of his neck. Mizuki saw it coming and opened his mouth to say something. Atobe never knew what Mizuki had been about to say for Atobe swallowed the muffled sound into his own mouth. Mizuki’s lips were supple and tasted faintly of cherry, as if Mizuki had applied lip balm. Maybe he had. Atobe wasn’t about to complain, not when he had been meaning to do this for a while.

“You…” Mizuki stopped to catch his breath. “We’re in a _museum_.”

“I am fully aware of that.” Atobe would have no qualms about kissing him against the wall and knocking down those atrocious paintings either. “You should be quiet. Other patrons are trying to enjoy the displays.”

Mizuki looked like he was admitting defeat, shaking his head like Atobe was a hopeless lost cause. On the contrary, Atobe had never felt more triumphant. That was what their second kiss tasted of: cherries and victory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mizuki questions his life decisions and wonders why he ever thought dating the narcissistic captain of the Hyoutei tennis team was a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lissie ♥

Mizuki supposed receiving his first kiss from Atobe while standing between Morisot’s  _Reading_ and Pissarro’s  _Landscape at Pontoise_  wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Mizuki thought he had handled it with confidence and maturity, which was more than he could say about Atobe. Not only had Atobe decided that museums were perfectly acceptable places to hold public displays of affection, but Atobe had also been quite rude.The Hyoutei captain was very open about what he thought of Mizuki’s artistic tastes. Atobe was outspoken against anyone who didn’t like the same things he did in general. The man thought of himself as a self-proclaimed god.

That was why there was no logical reason for Mizuki to turn into a blushing spluttering mess the second he was alone in his own bedroom. Honestly, who did Atobe think he was? Mizuki thought of Atobe with distastefulness as he pressed his face against his pillow. That narcissist was not even that good-looking. The way Atobe spoke was so over-the-top plus Atobe had a very questionable taste in fashion. Atobe’s ego was so inflated Mizuki was surprised his head wasn’t swollen like a balloon.

There was no way Mizuki was attracted to Atobe. There was also no way he had enjoyed those kisses in the museum. That really wasn’t why he had also let Atobe drive him home and kissed him one last time before exiting his limo. Mizuki looked at his flushed face in his mirror and groaned, making a noise that sounded like a dying cat.

Mizuki didn’t know when this had happened. He was fairly certain his initial goal had been the usual gather-data-and-recruit-new-players. Keeping your enemies close and your intentions hidden had seemed like as good a plan as any.

How had that gone so completely wrong?

The following morning Mizuki had a text from Atobe. When the afternoon came, Mizuki found the now familiar black limo waiting outside St. Rudolph. The same thing happened the day after, and then the day after that and many times more in the following couple of weeks. Mizuki told himself it was the champagne and the places Atobe brought him to that made him go. Being in Atobe Keigo's company was an inevitable part of these arrangements.

One day Mizuki stayed behind with Captain Akazawa and Vice-captain Takuya to maul over training plans and tactics. Mizuki messily wrote down some outlines, aware that Atobe must be waiting for him outside. He hoped he could get this done quickly and leave the essentials to Takuya. 

“Aren’t you late for your meeting with your sugar-daddy?” Akazawa asked.

Mizuki had been in the middle of writing and accidentally scratched ink on the table. “Atobe Keigo is a friend- no, an  _acquaintance_ -“

“Who happens to be rich and picks you up every day and brings you to fancy-schmancy suppers,” Akazawa finished. “Yeah, I get the picture.”

“It’s a smart move, Mizuki-kun,” Vice-captain Takuya said. “You could get close to the Hyoutei team while reaping benefits along the way.”

Akazawa snorted. "I don't think that's what he's doing."

Mizuki walked home that day, exiting out the back of the gym and taking a long detour to avoid Atobe’s vehicle. He bit his nail as he walked. Okay, so he had told his team that he was going out on missions to Hyoutei. And yes, he  _might_  have mentioned to some people about the places Atobe brought him to a few times. But that was fine. There nothing wrong with fraternizing with the captain of a different team, who happened to be rich and mildly good looking and shared similar interests as him, because Mizuki was absolutely  _not_  interested…!

He accidentally bit a big chunk out of his nail. Mizuki ran home, went over the next day’s training menu and what few bits of new data he had, filed his nails and buried his phone away when it began buzzing more and more frequently.

* * *

 

Mizuki turned over the bottle to look at the ingredients. The label said the lotion was for sensitive skin, but Mizuki had his doubts. It was grapefruit-scented, which he liked, but the price made him put it back on the shelf.

“—ki? Oi, Mizuki, are you listening?”

Mizuki adjusted his cellphone between his ear and shoulder. “Of course I am, Atobe-kun,” he replied. “You must be getting bad reception.”

Atobe made a noise as if to say “not likely.” Mizuki resisted the urge to end the call on the spot.

“Come join me,” Atobe said once again. “It’s a crime for someone as magnificent as myself to marvel outdoors on such a nice day alone.” Mizuki imagined Atobe lounging along his poolside, next to an enormous pool with a slide and waterfall. He also imagined Atobe wearing nothing except a speedo and sunglasses.

“It’s too hot outside,” Mizuki said, just a tad whiny. “I’ll get bitten by insects and sunburned.”

“I’ll put the sunscreen on you myself.” There was a smirk in Atobe’s voice, then something slightly more suggestive, “I’ll put it anywhere you want me to.”

Mizuki deadpanned. “How generous of you.”

Oh yes, Mizuki knew all about Atobe’s legendary mansion. How could he not with how often the Hyoutei captain himself boasted of all his worldly possessions? Want to go to the beach? No need, Atobe had a pool bigger than any beach in japan. Want to go to the zoo? Atobe had his own private zoo on a small island off the coast. If Mizuki commented on the weather, he half-expected Atobe to announce that he had a rocket buried under his house that could fly to outer space.

Plus, regardless of what activity they did, they both had the tendency to make passive-aggressive comments to one another until they either left in a rage or began kissing. And lately the balance had been tilted more towards the kissing.

God, he was in desperate need of an intervention.

“I was thinking we could do something more along the lines of… tennis,” Mizuki said. Yes, tennis was a good idea. No, it was an  _amazing_  idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? This way he would truly be getting data on Atobe and it wouldn’t be a date. If Mizuki got some good data, then Akazawa could stop making fun of him all the time. 

“Tennis?” Atobe sounded doubtful. “I suppose we could. Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“Nfu, don’t be silly. I don’t need a handicap in order to win against the likes of you,” Mizuki replied. “Shall we meet up somewhere?”

“No need, I own a dozen tennis courts.”

Of course he did. Mizuki was not even surprised anymore. Atobe Kingdom had everything.

* * *

 

Mizuki was not particularly fond of helicopter rides for the fact that they were loud and messed up his hair, but he did admit they were practical when it came to transportation. Atobe’s mansion was rather isolated and would have taken a long time to get to by driving. Mizuki had once heard a rumour that Atobe skydived out of a jet to school every morning. He had laughed the rumour off before but now found himself wondering if it was true.

Atobe’s mansion was remarkably big even seen from a sky view. As the helicopter began landing, the enormous building grew larger and larger. They landed in a vast garden filled with trees, bushes and elaborate fountains with naked statues in the middle. Atobe’s butler, an old man who introduced himself as Michael, was waiting for him, ready to welcome Mizuki to the Atobe manor and to bring him to where _Young master Atobe_  waited.

Mizuki followed Michael through a long walk past horse pastures and a racecar circuit. They even walked by an open garage filled with expensive Italian sportcars. Mizuki was one hundred percent positive that Atobe had ordered his butler to go through as many detours as possible to show off before bringing Mizuki to the correct location.

When they arrived at the pool, it turned out Mizuki’s earlier vision of Atobe in a slim swimsuit had not been too far off.

“My, you took your time getting here,” Atobe said. He was lounging in the middle of a deep blue pool on a reclined seat with a parasol over him, drinking iced tea with his pinky in the air. The pool looked like it had diamonds at the bottom. “I trust your ride here was a good one?”

“Yes, almost as good as your elaborate ploy to get your butler to give me a tour of your manor’s best assets,” said Mizuki. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to faint on you out of sheer admiration.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about because the manor’s best asset is right here.” Atobe said, grandly indicating to himself.

“I do hope you aren’t planning on playing tennis like that,” said Mizuki.

“Of course not. That wouldn’t be fair to my opponent as they would be far too distracted by my magnificence to pay attention to the game.”

_Why did I come here_ , Mizuki thought. For tennis, not to gawk at Atobe’s abdominal muscles.

…Though those were some impressive abs.

Atobe caught him staring. Mizuki looked away. Atobe’s smirk grew. “We have the whole day ahead of us. Come, the water is great. I’ll tell Michael to get you a swimsuit and a drink.”

“I’ll pass,” Mizuki said.

Atobe went to the edge of the pool, wrapping himself in a royal purple robe. “Come then, the courts are this way. This won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

* * *

 

Atobe was right. It didn’t take fifteen minutes. It took ten.

Mizuki had spent more time changing into his tennis attire and stretching than playing the game. Mizuki sank to his knees on the purple-grassed court, defeated. He felt sweat run down his cheeks. It really was horribly hot outside.

One of the house servants was keeping a scoreboard. Six to zero was the final score. Atobe was on the opposite side, leaning on his racket and not even breaking a sweat. Mizuki had expected Atobe to boast about his victory, but somehow the silent disappointed expression Atobe wore was even worse.

“You might want to keep your job as a manager,” Atobe said.

Mizuki supposed he deserved that. He should have spent more time collecting data and focussing on Atobe’s play style. Even if Atobe's style was flashy and exaggerated, Atobe clearly was a Nationals level player through and through. Mizuki had made the grave mistake of underestimating him. Next time… Mizuki would win next time. He would collect so much data that he would know what move Atobe was planning to make a whole minute before he did it.

But for now… “I need a shower,” Mizuki said. He wrinkled his nose, feeling the reek of sweat coming off of him. 

They were brought to a separate building. It was a training center, a place filled with treadmills and other exercise machines for every muscle in the body. Atobe and Mizuki were simply passing through the area to reach a different room. They entered an enormous bathing room complete with a changing area, multiple showerheads, shelves and shelves of soaps and bottles and what appeared to be a sauna in the corner. Mizuki had been reliving parts of their short match in his mind and was cut-off when he saw the size of the bath planted in the center of the room. It was so big it could be more accurately described as a small pool. The room was emitting a luscious floral scent, which made sense because the pool was filled with steaming water with rose petals coated upon its surface. Mizuki had never wanted to get inside a bathtub so much in his life.

“I had Michael pour the bath for ore-sama, but you can join me if you wish,” Atobe muttered, dangerously close to Mizuki’s ear.

Mizuki pushed him away. It was just a bath no matter how big it was, Mizuki told himself in an attempt to strengthen his crumbling resolve. 

It certainly didn’t help that Atobe was taking off his shirt and dumping it to the floor. The captain spent no time taking the rest of his clothing off, standing nude and completely unashamed. Atobe’s body was golden, a slight tan evenly distributed all over his body. Mizuki had seen too many tacky tan lines over the years as a tennis player and Atobe had not a single one.

Atobe sank into the bath, moaning obscenely as he did so. Mizuki made himself go to the showerhead standing along the side wall. He didn’t need a warm bath. He was warm enough. What he really needed was a cold shower to clear his mind. Mizuki didn’t look behind him as he shed his clothes. He could feel Atobe staring but Mizuki was dead-set on ignoring Atobe. Mizuki turned the water on and shivered as cold droplets made their way down his body, soaking into his hair.

“I think I finally discovered what your best asset is,” Atobe called from behind him, a smirk in his voice. “And I have quite a marvelous view of it from this angle.”

“Are you such a vulgar host with all your guests?” Mizuki answered. He didn’t turn around, but nor did he cover himself. Mizuki was not about to admit defeat that easily. “I’m still wondering if you possess any good assets at all, Atobe-kun.”

“My entire being is made of nothing but good assets,” Atobe said. “Come here. I’ll wash your back.”

Mizuki's resolve was weakening, mainly because he really did want to go inside the bath. Mizuki would not run away from this like some spooken unexperienced child just because Atobe was present, so he decided to face the challenge head-on. He shut off the shower water and padded towards the other end of the enormous tub. He sat along the edge, dipping one foot in and then the other, sighing as he felt how blissfully warm the water was. He leaned in, catching a petal between his middle and index finger. Yes, those were genuine rose petals.

Mizuki saw the water ripple as Atobe approached. Atobe was standing in the pool yet the water reached just below his stomach. A few coarse hairs grew under his navel, occasionally peeking above the water.

“You can stay back there,” Mizuki said, swallowing thickly. “The bath is big enough for us both.”

“It is.” Atobe stood before him, putting two hands on both of Mizuki’s knees and pulling them apart so Atobe could fit his body between them. “I did say I would wash your back as well.”

“This hardly resembles a backwash," MIzuki replied. Atobe pressed his mouth just under Mizuki's collar, smirking.

Mizuki thought of how he hadn’t properly washed himself yet. He should’ve used soap and lathered before even coming close to the tub.

Atobe opened his mouth, his teeth grazing a stiff nipple. Mizuki’s reached for Atobe’s hair, intending to pull him off as he griped, “I haven’t washed myself yet.” Atobe only suckled the nipple into his mouth as Mizuki sucked in a breath. The hand in Atobe’s hair went soft.

Atobe took Mizuki by the hips and dragged him closer, off the edge and slowly sinking him into the water. Mizuki sighed at the blissful feeling of the bathwater washing over his grimy-feeling skin. His feet touched the bottom and Atobe caught his mouth in a deep kiss. Mizuki’s nipple felt bruised as it rubbed against Atobe’s naked chest just as Atobe played with his upper lip. Atobe bit and lapped at it until it was red and swollen. 

And apparently it wasn’t the only swollen thing in the vicinity. Mizuki made an irritated sound in the back of his throat, pushing Atobe back so that it was no longer poking at his thigh. “Were you planning on giving me a backwash with your shaft?” Mizuki snapped, crossing his arms. Suddenly he wished he had stayed at the showers.

Atobe looked entirely too proud of himself, that shameless exhibitionist.

The bath was far from soothing. Mizuki found the bodywash and set about washing himself whereas Atobe set out to be a nuisance. Atobe kept his distance, but not by a lot. It certainly didn’t stop Atobe from sneaking in touches below the water. Atobe's legs brushed up against Mizuki’s multiple times and when Mizuki hauled himself out, Atobe not-so-discretely stole a touch to his backside.

“You’re becoming rather bold,” Mizuki noted, raising an eyebrow.

“If I see something I want, I reach for it,” Atobe said. He made no move to leave the tub. He lounged back, extending his arms behind him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at the usual time. Tell Michael to bring me chilled red wine when you leave.”

Mizuki had never dressed so fast, and even then he was entirely too aware of his wrinkled shirt and of his damp hair leaking water down his neck. There were maids and other servants in the gardens outside, all of them busy at their jobs, but that certainly didn't stop them from staring at Mizuki as he left. Mizuki’s way back to the helicopter felt far too much like a walk of shame.

“You are welcome to return, Mizuki-sama,” Michael the butler said before the helicopter took off. Mizuki only nodded. When the helicopter was in the air, Mizuki came to the exasperated conclusion that he never wanted to look at baths or roses ever again.

* * *

 

“It’s not that I hate him,” Mizuki explained. “But he’s that type of guy who thinks he’s all that. He may be a good tennis player, but that hardly gives him the right to be such an insufferable narcissist, right Yuuta?”

Yuuta looked uncomfortable. “A-Ah, I guess…?”

“Okay, he does have decent taste in restaurants and clothes, I’ll give him that, but all it gives off is a false sense of classiness. Don’t fall for his façade, Yuuta. Trust me, Atobe-kun is as vulgar and unrefined as they get.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Mizuki-san,” Yuuta replied.

“Also I’m fairly certain he shaves his legs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Many athletes do it. Perhaps it allows him to move faster when he plays. What do you think, Yuuta?”

“I don’t know, Mizuki-san.” Yuuta lunged for the ball and missed. Across the court, Yanagisawa made a little victory jump.

“Yuuta! You’re supposed to be improving, and here you are getting distracted during a match. I should give you laps for missing that ball,” Mizuki said.

Mizuki's foul mood tended to persist the longer he spent thinking about Atobe. He assigned Yuuta to ball cleanup duty and went on his way. Mizuki had spent far too many hours awake last night when he should have been sleeping. It irked him how the sensation of Atobe’s mouth moving against his kept him awake. Atobe was a good kisser, Mizuki admitted. That and his soft hair and those ridiculously smooth legs had run round and round Mizuki’s mind all night. Atobe was more of a hassle than he was worth, in Mizuki's opinion.

His own team was being completely unsupportive. Whenever Mizuki made eye contact with Akazawa, the St. Rudolph captain would make kissy faces at him or pretend to snog Kaneda to mock him. Kaneda would always tell him to knock it off and defensively reminded Akazawa that he had a girlfriend.

Today Akazawa made his appearance by dramatically asking Mizuki “How’s it going with your most dearest Atobe Keigo-sama?” and pretending to swoon.

“Go back to practice, Akazawa,” Mizuki snapped.

“Oh dear, did somebody have a fight with their significant other?” Akazawa asked.

Once Mizuki recruited better players, Akazawa would definitely be the first one demoted.

The limousine was waiting outside the front gates as always. Inside Atobe played with his phone with his legs crossed. Mizuki dumped his bag on the opposite seat and slammed the door shut behind him.

“You’re early,” Atobe noted, without looking up from his phone.

“I managed to get Yuuta on ball pick-up duty in my place,” Mizuki said.

“Judging by your team’s lack of athletic talent, perhaps picking up balls is the best option of all of you.”

Mizuki shoved him hard. The phone clattered out of Atobe’s hold, dropping to the ground. Mizuki folded his arms and looked away. After his awful day, Atobe’s criticism was the last thing Mizuki was willing to put up with.

“What has your panties in a bunch?” Atobe asked, more condescending than considerate.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Mizuki was determined to look very interested in the moving scenery outside his window. That didn’t stop Atobe from sliding his arm around Mizuki’s waist and letting his other hand touch Mizuki’s knee.

“You’re not very appealing when you’re upset, darling,” Atobe said.

“You’re not very appealing yourself, _sweetie_.”

Atobe’s hand abandoned Mizuki’s knee in favour of slithering up his thigh. Mizuki made a strangled noise and clenched his legs when that hand came too close to that area between his thighs. Mizuki caught his hand. “No.”

Atobe shrugged and backed off. “It might do you some good,” he said. “I could help you relax.”

Mizuki thought Atobe was more likely to give him an ulcer.

The inside of the Atobe mansion was somehow even grander than the outside. If Mizuki didn’t have Atobe as a guide, he knew he’d get lost trying to find his way around. Every single painting, sculpture, and even the curtains looked so valuable that Mizuki didn’t dare touch them. Grand chandeliers trailed the ceiling and the wallpaper looked as if it made been made out of pure gold. The stairs were marble and clacked noisily under their shoes. Mizuki lost count of how many turns they did and how many doors they passed. On their way up, Atobe ordered Michael to bring them some drinks and snacks.

As it was, Atobe had planned something involving some long-named German movie that Mizuki couldn't pronounce. Atobe’s bedroom could have doubled as both a living room and a dining room for how vast it was. The enormous canopy bed took up the far wall, big enough to hold a dozen full grown men. Glass doors showed a balcony outside, with a two-person tea table and flower décor. Besides the painting on the walls, most of them being self-portraits of Keigo, a massive screen took up nearly the entire south wall.

Snacks and tea were served as the movie began. Mizuki felt ready to doze off barely twenty minutes into the film. It wasn’t that the movie was boring as much as it was about Mizuki not having a fluent understanding of the German language. Mizuki was too stubborn to admit it or ask for subtitles, so he watched in silence as a crying blonde woman spoke in the harsh language to a tall war soldier.

“Do you want me to translate for you?” Atobe asked. Mizuki vaguely realized Atobe's arm had found its way round his shoulders. Mizuki wondered when that had happened.

Mizuki supposed nearly nodding off on Atobe’s shoulder had given it away. “No, I’ll manage,” Mizuki said.

Atobe’s eyes glinted. “I’ve seen this movie before. If you’re not going to pay attention to it either, then we should find other ways to keep ourselves entertained.”

_Entertained_ apparently meant indulging in more physical contact in this case. Mizuki didn’t dodge when Atobe kissed him, pushing his head back into the couch’s dark leather. Just one kiss, he told himself… just a small one. He felt the hem of his shirt being lifted and cold calloused fingertips tickling his stomach. Mizuki opened his eyes, not realizing they had been closed. Atobe’s eyelashes were long and inky black brushing against his. Atobe's cheeks held a soft tan with tiny hints of red from time spent outside. Atobe pulled him closer until they were flush together, laying on the couch with Atobe towering over Mizuki.

Dazed, Mizuki tried to regain his breath. Atobe straddled him, the movie now gone forgotten. Atobe slowly unbuttoned his own shirt, preening as it slid down his torso like gliding water. Atobe then moved on, playing with the button of his pants.

By then Mizuki had regained parts of his sanity. “You want to do this on the couch? How tacky,” Mizuki said.

“You should be quiet once in a while,” Atobe replied. Atobe stood, circling behind the couch. Mizuki wondered what it would feel like to run his nails along Atobe’s abdomen. “Come then, the bed’s here.”

Mizuki followed shortly, finding the rest of Atobe's clothes on the ground. Seeing Atobe there, standing in his full glory before the bed somehow made this much more real than that time in the bath.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” Mizuki said.

“Then stay the night. We’ll have more time to ourselves.”

“I can’t. There’s a morning practice tomorrow with some new recruits and I can’t possibly be tired. It would make a bad impression. The entire image of the tennis club is dependent on me, you know,” Mizuki babbled.

Atobe laughed, walking away from him. He pulled back the bed covers, running his hands along the satin sheets. He tilted his head, showing Mizuki a small coy look.

“Stop it,” Mizuki said.

The chuckling continued as Atobe scrambled up the bed, pressing down on the sheets with all the grace in the world. Atobe stretched like a tigress, watching him. Mizuki’s mouth ran dry. He followed the line of Atobe’s bare figure, scowling at the firm shoulders, dipping waist and all-too-perfect skin hiding an abundance of taut muscles.

“One night,” Atobe said, “and I promise your team will be the last thing on your mind.”

Those beige trousers were on the floor between them. Mizuki stepped closer, letting Atobe think he had won for a split-second, before picking up the discarded piece of clothing and tossing it on top of Atobe.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” Mizuki said.

Atobe said nothing, merely regarding him for a moment before reaching for the pants Mizuki had thrown at him. Mizuki nearly sighed in relief, staring determinedly at the framed painting above the bed as he ignored the flickering disappointment in his chest.

“My shirt?” Atobe said, nodding at the clothing article hanging off the back of the couch. Mizuki took it, careful not to look at the captain on the bed. Even with the linen covering Atobe’s torso, the rest of his body was splayed out for all to see. Mizuki held out his arm, handing the shirt to Atobe when his wrist was suddenly seized in a vice grip. 

“Is that truly what you desire?” Atobe asked, half-standing to press himself flush against Mizuki.

The bruising hold on Mizuki’s wrist vanished, sinking lower to trap him by holding his hips. Mizuki's pride was not about to let him show panic by scrambling like a madman ready to escape a prison. One of Atobe's hands abandonned Mizuki's waist, going to his lips and slipping a finger inside. Mizuki caught a flash of pink, his eyes following the movement like a hypnotized man.

“You know nothing of what I desire,” Mizuki replied through dry lips.

“Oh, I think I can make an educated guess,” Atobe said. His finger gleamed with saliva. “You are really not all that difficult to figure out. You may think you are special, but I can figure you out all the same.” Atobe found the zipper on Mizuki’s pants and worked it down, parting the material to stroke the soft skin underneath. When Atobe found Mizuki's member, already hot and throbbing. Atobe pressed on the wet tip and Mizuki couldn’t help but arch against him. All of Mizuki's protests died on his lips.

Atobe hummed along his throat and said, “Is that what you want? To continuously lead me on before obstinately dodging all my advances? Or is this what you want …?“ Atobe stroked him again, much lower this time and giving Mizuki no warning before thrusting a finger inside him. It reached deep, a burning stretch that forced Mizuki forward, pressing him chest to chest with Atobe. The finger slid in, and out – and _in_. Despite himself, Mizuki moaned. Atobe gave his most wicked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” said Atobe and kissed him in earnest.

Atobe was everywhere, sucking on his neck and licking his jaw, returning to nibble on his lips with all the sensuality in the world. Mizuki’s pants pooled on the floor. Atobe took him in hand, rubbing him slow as the digit inside him curled again and again until Mizuki was panting from it.

“Hurry,” Mizuki gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head. All tentativeness was gone from his touch. Atobe felt hot, alive and hungry against him, pushing Mizuki back along the mattress. Mizuki remained motionless as Atobe stripped him of the remainder of his clothes. He kept his eyes closed, until Atobe slid two fingers under his chin and tilted his face to steal a kiss and his breath. Mizuki felt chilled against the hot and hard planes of Atobe covering him. He wanted _something_ – he wanted Atobe to kiss him more, he wanted that talented finger inside him again, he wanted more than this measly pressure rubbing along his cock... He wanted more, more…

Atobe explored his shape, dipping his fingers into every crevice, moving his mouth lower and biting at every spot that made Mizuki jump. MIzuki’s legs fell open, allowing Atobe to sink between them. Mizuki’s nails dug into Atobe’s shoulders as Atobe played with his navel and finally – _finally_ – down to that indent between his legs.

“I do like you better like this,” Atobe said.

“Don’t stop,” Mizuki said, urgent. The little bits of resistance he had left melted into nothing. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to, not when he could feel Atobe’s tongue licking down his inner thigh, and not when Atobe's canine scrapped at the skin under his knee. Mizuki could only imagine how indecent his appearance must be with his legs spread wide and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Look at me,” Atobe said. Mizuki could feel how close Atobe was. Atobe’s hot breath puffed along the indent between his leg and groin.

Mizuki shook his head no, his hair a dark purple mess on the sheets and his hands fisted on the covers. Looking would be far too embarrassing. The suspense alone was driving him insane; so much that Mizuki knew he wouldn’t last long once Atobe did as his position promised.

And Atobe never did disappoint.

The inside of Atobe’s mouth was maddeningly hot and soft, and Atobe's flitting tongue probbed at just the right places. Mizuki abandoned the sheets and tore at Atobe’s hair, arching and pulling and crying out embarrassingly loud when Atobe hummed around him. Mizuki didn’t recognize his own voice. It was a mixture of gasps of _Atobe_ , and _yes_ , and _yes there again_ that sounded so high pitched and whiny even to his own ears. Atobe slid it in deep then back out and Mizuki couldn’t keep his trembling legs still.

“Easy there,” Atobe said, pulling back for a second when Mizuki nearly kicked his ear by accident. He held Mizuki’s ankle down, pining it so it couldn’t do anymore damage. “I do think you are liking this quite a bit, lovely. Ore-sama’s prowess extends into the bedroom as well, as you can now attest to.”

Mizuki lifted his head, peeking out through his closed eyelids. He had been about to retort when Atobe smirked and swiped his tongue along the head. Mizuki groaned and fell back down, hating that he couldn’t deny just how overwhelmed he felt. Mizuki wanted to push Atobe's head back down. He had been so close, just a hairsbreadth away from tumbling off the edge when Atobe had stopped.

“What were you saying earlier again, about us ceasing to see each other?” Atobe inquired. There was hidden amusement in his words. His finger slid up Mizuki’s cock, playing with the wet tip teasingly. Mizuki choked.

Mizuki licked his lips, needing several seconds to form his words. “Don’t start. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Mizuki rasped, spreading his legs wider. “What are you waiting for?”

“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind.”

Mizuki surveyed Atobe, not certain if it was a joke or not. “It was your preposition,” he said.

“Was it?” Atobe feigned ignorance. “I don’t quite recall.”

“ _Atobe_ ,” Mizuki warned. “I will not be played with.”

Atobe’s laugh was mirthless. He gave Mizuki a quick pat on the side of his hip. “I won’t keep you waiting then.”

Mizuki wouldn’t have begged. He had desperately wanted to, but told himself Atobe would not make him sink that low. Either way, it was a good thing Atobe resumed his ministrations when he did. Atobe swallowed him down his throat in one swift motion. Mizuki keened, his heel digging into Atobe's back. A tightness in his belly was present, growing stronger and stronger as Atobe’s pace increased. Mizuki’s moans were accompanied only by the ending of that awful German movie in the background and by Atobe’s obscene slurps.

“Stop, I'll...!” Mizuki warned him, pressing harder with his foot to signal Atobe.

Atobe’s mouth left, replaced quickly by his hand. The pumps were quick and smooth, slick from the saliva. Atobe's other hand rubbed lower, down past Mizuki's perineum and pressing a single digit inside.

That was all it took. Mizuki shook and shattered, whining his release into the bedsheets and spurting hot and messy all over himself. He had barely enough strength to wave Atobe’s hand off when he became too sensitive for anymore touches. What was left of him was a boneless body, dirty and sticky and tingling with the remainder of that earth-shattering bliss.

Mizuki's vision was blurry but still he saw Atobe move up, reclining next to him in an enticing pose. “Be awed at the sight of my prowess,” Atobe said, killing whatever mood was left.

In the background, the German movie was finished and a melancholic track played as the credits rolled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atobe long ago decided that Mizuki was the worst person ever. However, Mizuki did notice when Atobe’s clothes matched a room’s wallpaper and that was always a plus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lissie ♥

It took half a day for Mizuki to notice and when he did, he let Atobe know through a series of angry texts.

_‘I hope you’re happy. I’m the laughing stock of the team thanks to you. What have you got to say for yourself?’_

_'Do you know how ridiculous I look wearing a winter scarf in late summer?’_

_‘I can’t believe you. Out of all the places, you chose to give me a hickey on the neck like some sort of low class prostitute. I will not forgive you for this.’_

Oshitari leaned over Atobe’s shoulder to read the messages, wanting to see what Atobe was chuckling about. “Someone’s angry,” Oshitari noted. “What are you gonna do about that?”

Atobe pocketed his phone. “He’ll get over it.” It wasn’t as if Mizuki didn’t ignore the majority of his texts. Besides, the situation grew more and more amusing with each additional message Mizuki sent him.

He did end up giving Mizuki some type of reply, after tennis practice was over. Atobe had just stepped out of the shower, his hair and flawless body – if he did say so himself- still gleaming with water droplets. The inspiration struck him on the spot. He fished his phone out of his uniform jacket, struck a confident pose and snapped a picture from an upper angle.

“What a romantic you are,” Oshitari said with an ugly snort.

“I don’t need your sarcasm, Oshitari.” Atobe sent the picture to Mizuki, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

“I don’t think sending naked pictures of yourself will help poor Mizuki-kun feel less angry,” Oshitari said.

“That’s why I didn’t ask for your advice.”

Though he supposed Oshitari had been somewhat correct. When Atobe waited outside of St. Rudolph in his limousine, just like he did every day, Mizuki exited the school with a small group of fellow team members. Mizuki shot one look at the limo, stuck his nose up in the opposite direction and walked away.

Mizuki was really _not_ cute, Atobe thought.

* * *

 

Atobe realized fairly early on that Mizuki was an avid complainer.

When they strolled outdoors, Mizuki complained he needed a parasol or else his skin would burn. Mizuki complained he could only swim in salt water, because chlorine dried up his skin. Inside the mansion, Mizuki always complained of being too hot and that the air conditioning gave him a sore throat. Music played as they had their usual afternoon tea and Mizuki complained that “Brahm’s violin concerto is vastly overrated, don’t you think?” and they ended up arguing about that for three hours until Mizuki left. And when Atobe picked Mizuki up the next day, they resumed their argument with just as much vigor. Mizuki’s face was sour when angry, like he had just bitten a piece of unripened fruit. Then in the few times Mizuki made a snarky comeback, his smile would resemble that of a lizard’s.  

Atobe thought Mizuki had absolutely no right to act so haughty, especially considering how bad Mizuki was at tennis. Mizuki seemed ill-suited to sports in general, especially considering how much he hated getting sweaty and staying in the sun.

“Nfu, tennis is not all about skill, Atobe-kun,” Mizuki told him when Atobe mentioned Mizuki’s intolerance and lack of skill in a certain sport. “If I analyse an opponent well enough, I will be able to predict their actions and secure a victory for myself. As long as I calculate my data well enough, then I won’t lose.”

“That hardly explains why your team has yet to make it to the Regionals,” Atobe replied.

Mizuki scoffed. “It’s a work in progress and takes a marginal amount of effort to perfect.”

“That effort could be better used to train your skills,” Atobe said. “Perhaps you’ll find better luck with other sports, lovely. Tennis isn’t your strong suit.”

“Hmph.” Mizuki looked insulted. “Tennis is such an elegant sport. A friendly competition between two skilled gentlemen across a field. There is none of that roughhousing or fighting other sports have, nor do you have to grab some dirty ball from a sea of disgusting bodies.”

Atobe was certain Mizuki was always the last person picked in gym class.

Mizuki continued, “No, tennis is much more sophisticated; both sides get their fair turn and require power and stamina to win. Team sports are tedious. I’d rather rely on my own strength than have to worry about a weak teammate.”

Atobe imagined Mizuki sitting alone on the bench while the rest of his class played a team sport like basketball. The imaginary Mizuki would sit with his legs crossed and say ‘ _of course, I’m only on the bench to level out the playing field, having someone as good as me on the team would not be fair to the opponents,_ ’ while no one paid him any attention.

Atobe went with the easy answer, “Yes, I do agree that tennis is an elegant sport.”

Mizuki appeared satisfied enough with that reply, and a happy Mizuki was a Mizuki less likely to slap Atobe for groping his backside. Atobe wondered yet again why he bothered to put up with this guy. That probably had something to do with the fact that Mizuki shared Atobe’s high taste in fine arts. Well, the fact that Mizuki’s ass was pretty spectacular did factor into the equation... even if getting Mizuki to participate in physical intimacy was an astonishingly difficult task. Atobe still didn’t understand how Mizuki could possibly resist him. Anyone who knew Atobe Keigo couldn’t say that he wasn’t amazingly skilled and ridiculously handsome.

As much as Mizuki tried to remain unimpressed regarding all of Atobe’s vast possessions, it was obvious Mizuki was quite taken with the royal treatment he received at the Atobe mansion. It didn’t take Mizuki long to realize all the employees were ordered to serve him anything he might want. It had started off with minor things like getting them to fetch him a glass of water or a towel. Now here Mizuki was, snapping his fingers to get the servants’ attention and then ordering iced espressos with soy milk, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles as he lounged back on the balcony with the most spectacular view of the nearby lake.

“You quite enjoy getting pampered,” Atobe said when Mizuki ordered yet another thing from one of the maids; this time it was scented lotion wipes and eight crackers with avocado spread. Atobe was fairly certain his entire house staff was starting to hate Mizuki. The evidence for that came when Atobe told Michael that Mizuki was spending the afternoon and the two nearby maids’ faces fell.

“I prefer to think of myself as an opportunist,” Mizuki said, folding his legs up. Atobe imagined Mizuki's legs wrapped around his waist instead. "Since your employees are paid to respond to my needs, why shouldn’t I use this service?” Mizuki sipped at the straw of his iced coffee. 

“How innovative of you,” Atobe said. He reached over, stroking up along Mizuki’s wrist. Mizuki looked good today, wearing a robe borrowed from Atobe’s own collection. It was a royal blue colour, with twisted golden leaves of embroidery patterned down the sleeves and up the neckline. It barely reached his knees, and lay half open along one thigh. Atobe knew how easy that robe was to slip off, and he also knew which guest bedroom had curtains that matched its colour.

Mizuki pulled his hand back. “How am I supposed to enjoy the view when you continue to disrupt my tranquility?”

“You have a better view sitting right next to you,” Atobe answered.

“Mm, I’ll admit you are a hard one to ignore, especially when you keep undressing me with your eyes,” Mizuki said and pulled the robe closed over his legs. “Keep your eyes to yourself, Atobe-kun.”

“I do think you should return the favour I gave you last time,” Atobe said, matter-of-factly. "You quite enjoyed yourself, if I remember correctly. You could hardly keep quiet."

One might’ve thought that Atobe had just asked Mizuki to roll around in the sewers for how disgusted Mizuki looked. “I don’t owe you anything,” Mizuki said. He left his recliner, as if physically repulsed by Atobe’s advances. “Thank your staff for me. I’m leaving.”

Nobody understood what Atobe went through. Everyone thought Mizuki was a nice loving boyfriend who appreciated every perk that came with being around the great Atobe Keigo. They didn’t know how cold and insensitive Mizuki really was. Nobody understood the trials Atobe had to put up with.

Atobe sighed, lounging back in his cushioned recliner. His life was so difficult.

* * *

 

“ _That_ ’s the school?” Shishido said in the most insulting tone possible.

The Hyoutei bus was parked in front of a large brick building. The gates in the front held a plaque signed ‘St. Rudolph Academy’ in bronze letters. The building was awfully small, even smaller than the study hall and library at Hyoutei. For a lack of better words, the school was very _plain_. Atobe had seen it dozens of times and it seemed to get less pleasing to the eye every time.

“This school has less than six hundred students,” Oshitari remarked. “But even so… I expected something better.”

“We’re not here to attend classes, we’re here for a friendly competition,” Atobe said, grabbing hold of his tennis bag and rising from his seat. “Kabaji, let’s go.” Kabaji followed, and the rest of the team came after that.

It was bad enough that his team had complained the entire ride here; Atobe didn't need to hear more groans and sighs from them. 

“Next time try dating someone from a nicer school,” Mukahi said.

Kabaji had to go back inside the bus and fetch Jirou, who had fallen asleep. The promise of a match against St. Rudolph was not enough to excite Jirou into staying awake. Mukahi and Shishido were also yawning. Atobe wanted to tell them to be on their guard and not underestimate any opponents, but that would only earn him laughs. Atobe himself didn’t feel like being here. Mizuki sucked at tennis, and he doubted the rest of his team was any better.

Mizuki had insisted on friendly inter-school matches on multiple instances, and Atobe had rejected him one time too many. Atobe had given in a few days ago, after a particularly long rant from Mizuki about how this would benefit the teams’ sportsmanship. Atobe was certain Mizuki wanted some data on his players, but that hardly mattered. St. Rudolph posed no threat to Hyoutei Academy. Coach Sakaki hadn’t even bothered coming.

They found the tennis courts easily enough. The St. Rudolph tennis team was busy practicing. Or rather, half of them were practicing. There were only a few courts being used while various students roamed around, talking behind the fence or twirling their rackets in the air. There were no spectators, not even a single cheerleader in the area.

Mizuki was easy to spot. He had a clipboard and appeared to be drilling the regulars. “Ah, welcome to St. Rudolph Academy,” Mizuki said when he spotted them. The St. Rudolph regulars ceased practice, all of them staring at the Hyoutei team wearily. Mizuki showed them a broad smile, ushering them closer.

“Be polite,” Atobe whispered harshly to his team. Half of them rolled their eyes at him. Jirou snored from his position on Kabaji’s back.

“Good afternoon,” Oshitari said, heading straight for the tall St. Rudolph regular with the darker skin. Oshitari held out his hand and the St. Rudolph player shook it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Oshitari Yuushi. I believe my captain is sleeping with your manager.”

Atobe’s palm met his face. Mizuki glared daggers at Atobe.

“It’s not my fault,” Atobe told Mizuki a while later. Matches had been decided upon and warm-ups were over. Ootori and Shishido were winning three to nothing against a doubles team consisting of a bespectacled player and a guy who reminded Atobe of a duck. Mizuki had been standing off to the side with his arms crossed when Atobe had decided to join him.

“Honestly, I can hardly be held accountable for every comment my team makes,” Atobe said.

“You _are_ the captain,” Mizuki said, “therefore you _are_ responsible for your team.”

Atobe was going to murder Oshitari. That bastard was standing across the field, whispering something to Mukahi that made the two of them laugh. Atobe didn’t have to wonder what they were laughing about since they continued to point in Atobe’s direction. Mizuki spotted them, huffed and walked away.

“Hiyoshi,” Atobe found the second year player leaning against a tree by himself. “You’re up in singles 2.”

“Okay,” Hiyoshi said, bored. He looked over Atobe in silence for a few seconds. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Get out.”

Atobe wanted to kick his entire team out of the regulars. If Atobe didn’t need them to win tennis tournaments, he would’ve dropped them all instantly. Except Kabaji. Kabaji never failed him, never questioned his orders, and never talked uselessly. Everyone on his team should be more like Kabaji.

As was expected, St. Rudolph lost every match. Atobe played against a brown-haired boy with a scar in singles 1. The boy was better than Mizuki for certain, but still no match for Atobe Keigo. Mizuki had played in the second doubles match against Oshitari and Mukahi. Even if Mukahi and Oshitari kept on breaking off into fits of laughter, they still dominated the field and didn't drop a single game.

The loss seemed to worsen Mizuki’s mood.

“You’re the one who insisted on an inter-team practice,” Atobe pointed out afterwards. “So don’t blame me for your loss.”

Both he and Mizuki had showered in very cramped shower rooms and were now in Atobe’s limousine. Atobe had sent the rest of his team back on the bus. He couldn’t take another minute of Oshitari’s obnoxious laughter.

“No, it’s not just the loss,” Mizuki snapped. “It’s you and your frivolous behaviour. Your sense of self-entitlement is ridiculous. I understand that you own a vast number of riches, but that gives you no right to act like you’re the king of the entire world.”

Atobe touched Mizuki’s knee. “I could be the king of your world,” Atobe said and winked.

Mizuki slapped his hand away. “You see? There you go again, putting your hands where they don’t belong. I’m not in the mood, Atobe-kun.”

“You’re never in the mood,” Atobe said, his voice rising. “And I do think you enjoy my vast number of riches since you’re always at my home and paying more attention to my teacups and wallpapers than you do to me.”

“Then perhaps we should take a break.”

That last sentence hung heavy in the air. Mizuki turned away in favor of staring out the window with both his legs and arms crossed. Fine then. If Mizuki wanted nothing more to do with him, then Atobe had no problem with that. Atobe would just go drop off Mizuki and leave him alone with his stupidly plain school and ugly brown uniform and horrible tennis skills. Atobe would find someone else. Anyone else would be better than this killjoy. Loads of people would be willing to take Mizuki’s place; some of them would throw themselves at Atobe and fight other people for Atobe's attention alone.

The rest of the ride was done in silence. The limo stopped before the front doors of the Atobe mansion and Atobe wondered what Mizuki’s next plan of action was. Mizuki didn’t move, not even when the driver opened the door for him.

“Shall I get my driver to see you home?” Atobe asked.

Mizuki sighed. “No. Your servants have tea ready for me, right? I'm already here. It would be a waste not to drink it.”

“Suit yourself.”

Mizuki was right. The servants were used to Mizuki passing by after school every school night. They knew which teas he enjoyed and which teacups he preferred as well. The tea set was always perfectly set up on the balcony, often with music to accompany it. The music was always the source of a series of fascinating discussions... and arguments as well. Regardless, their talks had been indisputably interesting.

Today, the tea had a slight taste of orange and passion fruit and was served with lemon scones and coconut biscuits. As delicious as it was, it all tasted bitter in Atobe’s mouth. Mizuki only drank half the tea and spent long minutes nibbling on a biscuit. The sky was murky grey, turning the landscape into a dreary colour. Mizuki did spend more time examining his teacup than looking at Atobe. 

“I suppose I ought to be heading back now,” Mizuki said, brushing crumbs off his lap.

“It doesn’t have to end,” Atobe said.

“Doesn’t it?” Mizuki stood and Atobe caught up to him before he exited the balcony.

“I enjoy your company,” Atobe said. _Most of the time._

“Alas, if only the feeling were mutual,” Mizuki said and attempted to pass by Atobe.

Atobe side-stepped him. “It could be,” he muttered. His eyes swept down Mizuki’s long lashes, drifting lower to his collarbone, just barely visible out of his shirt’s collar.

“Don’t…” Mizuki murmured as Atobe bent his head low. Atobe did pause, only that didn’t seem to be what Mizuki wanted. Mizuki furrowed his eyebrows, catching Atobe’s shoulders and craning his head upwards.

Mizuki’s lips were cool and soft, impersonal at first with a slight taste of strawberry balm and of the coconut biscuits he had just eaten. Mizuki dragged his lips over his, slowly and hesitant for a split-second. Atobe reached up, cradling the back of Mizuki’s neck and deepening the kiss. _That_ seemed to be what Mizuki wanted. Mizuki sighed and dragged his entire body closer, his fingers drawing circles on Atobe’s shoulders as his mouth stroked in heady motions.

“Don’t what?” Atobe asked, managing to catch a breath.

“Hmm?” Mizuki sucked Atobe's lower lip into his mouth. Atobe felt Mizuki’s teeth against his skin.

“Don’t what?” Atobe asked again. He brought his mouth fully back to Mizuki’s, smiling when Mizuki dragged his palms down Atobe’s chest.

“Don’t _move_ ,” Mizuki said. He pulled at the front of Atobe’s jade shirt and began unbuttoning it. Mizuki’s mouth searched lower, kissing tentatively along the edges of Atobe's jaw and breathing hotly over the pulse at his throat. Mizuki’s hands were cold and Atobe shuddered. Atobe hummed appreciatively when Mizuki kissed and licked at a good spot. He felt Mizuki's hands pause at his belt.

“Go on,” Atobe said, pressing his hips forward. Mizuki didn’t appreciate that and pulled back.

“No,” Mizuki said. He was flushed, his eyes glazed over, and his hair a bigger mess than it usually was. “Bed.”

Atobe discarded his shirt and kicked off his shoes on the way to the bed. He lay back on the satin sheets, letting his legs fall open. Atobe smirked, rubbing his hand under his belt and regarding Mizuki inquiringly. “Are you going to take off your clothes or should I do it?”

Mizuki approached and Atobe grabbed the loops of his belt to tug him closer. “What is this material?” Atobe asked as he tucked those awful uniform pants down. He touched the shirt and tie, working at the knot and pulling it all off. “It feels awfully cheap.”

Mizuki shooed him off only to haul himself into a better position. He straddled Atobe and pulled on the captain's belt. “I believe it is a mixture of polyester and cotton, if I’m not mistaken,” Mizuki answered. He opened Atobe’s pants, finding skin-tight briefs made of shiny gold fabric. Mizuki stared, touching it curiously. “And what is this?”

Atobe grinned. “Golden silk threads, perfectly tailored to ore-sama's figure. You can touch it more.”

As Mizuki busied himself with the task of getting rid of their remaining clothes, Atobe reached into his nightstand drawer. He pulled out a pale purple bottle and a miniature treasure chest that held the necessities. He felt Mizuki's fingers slip underneath his briefs and tug them off. When Atobe looked back, he found Mizuki completely naked, his cock displaying a flushed pink colour that contrasted with the rest of his milky skin. Atobe felt his own cock jump to attention. 

“Turn around,” Atobe said. He unstopped the bottle, letting the moisturizer drip onto his palm. It overflowed, spilling on the sheets.

Mizuki gave a familiar huff. “Could you be any messier?” he said, managing to sound condescending even in his current position. “Give me that bottle.”

They exchanged positions. Mizuki lay down on the covers and Atobe loomed over him, quickly moving south to his target. Mizuki made a grab for the bottle.

“Spread your legs a bit,” Atobe said. Mizuki did just that. Atobe moved in to plant a long sucking kiss at the juncture between Mizuki's thigh and leg. Mizuki choked, his toes curling into the bed. “Thank you, lovely.”

“Out of all the fragrances, you had to get _lilac_ ,” Mizuki said. He was looking at the bottle, turning it over in his hands and sniffing its contents. Mizuki wrinkled his nose, looking like he wanted to sneeze. Atobe took the time to tease him, brushing the tip of his tongue from the base to the tip and feeling Mizuki's member twitch wildly in response. “You should – _ah_ – get something more aromatic next time.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Atobe promised. “Next time I'll consult you beforehand.” Mizuki truly was a complainer, but despite it all he did look to be enjoying himself somewhat. Mizuki was trying to read the ingredients on the lotion bottle, but was finding it to be an immensely difficult task to do when Atobe was mouthing his cock softly. Suddenly, Atobe took the whole thing into his mouth and sucked. Mizuki dropped the bottle, hung his head back and moaned. 

"Ah, finally something good comes out of your mouth," Atobe said. He didn't let Mizuki answer; he grabbed his member and stroked hard and fast. 

Mizuki's mouth fell open, his hips pushing upward. "Y...You _can't_... Atobe-k...!"

Atobe thought this was a type of prize for all those times he had put up with Mizuki’s complaints and insults. All that seemed insignificant now that Atobe knew he would be getting his reward here and now.

Mizuki gasped for breath when Atobe ceased his stroking. "A...tobe," Mizuki said, sounding rather disappointed. "What...?"

Atobe pushed Mizuki’s knees up higher. He found Mizuki's entrance and pushed at it with his thumb, swirling around the soft skin but not quite entering just yet. Mizuki was better like this: a marvelous mess writhing underneath him, his skin a pink glow shining with newly-formed sweat.

Atobe bit him gently under the knee, a distraction of sorts as he worked the first finger inside. Mizuki said his name, a catch in his throat. Mizuki was warm inside, clenching at first and then relaxing. 

“You’ll find the necessities in that small chest there,” Atobe said, since Mizuki was oh so fond of inspecting everything.

Mizuki didn’t protest. Atobe almost expected him to, but all he did was reach inside the box and pull out the small square with fumbling fingers.

Atobe found Mizuki’s nice spot. He knew because Mizuki stilled, his breathing growing agitated as Atobe pressed over it again and again, adding a second finger and even a third when Mizuki moaned louder. He continued pressing it, until Mizuki’s gasps took the shape of Atobe’s name.

“I’m here,” Atobe said, lifting himself up to his elbows. Mizuki’s upper body was glowing pink with a sex flush, everywhere from his ears down to his chest. He took the condom from Mizuki’s loose grip, ripping the package open and sliding it on. “Are you rendered speechless by my abilities or my beauty?”

Mizuki opened his mouth to retort but shut it again when he felt Atobe pressing against him. This time, Atobe didn't tease. He pushed in, groaning as he was slowly enveloped in a maddening heat. Mizuki stretched beneath him, digging his nails into Atobe's arms. Mizuki's forehead was crinkled with concentration but not once did Mizuki tell him to stop. Only when Atobe was fully seated in did Mizuki gasp and lock his ankles around Atobe's back.The sigh left Atobe’s lips, one filled with satisfaction after the long chase Mizuki had given him over the last few weeks. 

“Oh...” Mizuki breathed in shakily, his eyes closed. Atobe pulled back and pushed in deep again, his movements short but precise. “ _Ohh,_ ” Mizuki repeated. Atobe said the same thing, one single long note to voice his pleasure. Atobe could feel Mizuki’s cock jutting up against his stomach. When Atobe moved a second time, Mizuki shuddered.

“Be awed,” Atobe said, “by my prowess.”

Mizuki opened an eye, fixating Atobe with a glare for one brief second. “Don’t _ever_ … say that again,” Mizuki said shakily. He let his eyes slide shut once more, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

That was the last coherent thing Mizuki managed to say. Atobe set a pace and angled himself so he brushed against the spot that made Mizuki cry out again and again.

"I do think you are awed," Atobe whispered in Mizuki’s ear, "it feels good, hm?" Mizuki nodded and pushed his hips forward. Atobe took him in hand, rubbing at the dripping tip.

The teasing from earlier caught up to Mizuki quickly. When Mizuki came, it looked almost painful. Mizuki gasped, his entire body shaking and his eyes wide as they stared at the ceiling. His forehead was crinkled through the first few waves of pleasure, and then relaxing to make place for a gentler, blissful expression moments later.

That was all the invitation Atobe needed to set his own brisk pace. He pumped in and out, several rough motions that had Mizuki groaning and gave Atobe his climax mere moments later. He slid out and collapsed along Mizuki’s side, joining his partner in staring at the ceiling.

If Atobe expected a few minutes of serene skinship or a cuddly Mizuki, that hope was immediately shattered when Mizuki touched his stomach and made a disgusted face at the mess that was there.

“Fantastic. I’m going to need another shower very soon,” Mizuki said, still sounding out of breath. He looked over at Atobe. “And take that off before it spills everywhere.” Mizuki pointed at the condom.

“You are an absolute spoilsport,” Atobe said.

“Nfu, at least I said no moodkilling phrases in the middle of sex,” Mizuki replied. He lay back, appearing completely at ease despite his earlier disgust. “But, I do suppose you weren’t bad. It was… _passable_.”

Atobe preened, beaming with radiance. “Of course! You should expect no less from ore-sa-“

Mizuki shushed him. “Be quiet and don’t push it.”

Atobe fell silent and let Mizuki rest his head close to his shoulder; close enough that his hair tickled Atobe’s skin. Atobe supposed that was the best he could hope to get for now.

* * *

 

 “It will only take a minute,” Mizuki had said over an hour ago.

Atobe sat on the nearest bench – a sticky ugly green leather bench – and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.

“Hm, I don’t quite like the colour on this one, but I do like its grip,” Mizuki said. He waved the racket around half a dozen times and decided that he did not in fact like this racket because it was too heavy. He picked up the next one and gave it the same treatment. “This one’s nice. Oh, but it’s a _Wilson_. I do like the beam’s pattern though. What do you think, Atobe-kun?”

On Mizuki’s left was a pile of tennis rackets that Mizuki decided were a ‘maybe’. At his feet were the rackets that Mizuki did not like. The ‘maybe’ pile was bigger. There was always something wrong with the rackets; either the grip wasn’t good, the colour was ugly, the brand wasn’t up-to-par, and every tiniest detail was taken into account.

When Mizuki had first mentioned shopping for new sports equipment, Atobe hadn’t minded. _Now_ he minded it very much.

“Let’s go,” Atobe said. He didn’t care anymore. He was going to buy every single racket in the damn store if it would get Mizuki out of here.

“Hold on, let me just check the ratings on this one.” Mizuki pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. He waited as the internet loaded and watched Mizuki tap something into the search bar. “Ah, that’s what I thought. Three and a half stars isn’t good enough. But I do like it…” He put it gently down in the ‘maybe’ pile.

Atobe wondered how many more rackets this store owned.

Apparently the answer to that last question was _a boatload_. The piles steadily grew bigger and bigger and once Mizuki ran through all of them, he began picking through the pile of possible candidates.

“Of course, my new racket must match my shoes and uniform. Kaneda has these awful worn-out sneakers that are just the most atrocious things and Yanagisawa’s racket contrasts so badly with our jerseys that I'm surprised he doesn’t get kicked off the courts for it.”

After what felt like an eternity, Mizuki had narrowed it down to a dozen rackets. Mizuki then took to getting tennis balls and trying them out on the rackets first-hand. Atobe was fairly certain it had been mid-afternoon when they had entered the store yet now the sun was going down.

“I wonder if they have matching wristbands for some of these rackets?” Mizuki asked and that was when Atobe snapped.

Atobe found the nearest employee – a slouching acne-ridden teenager - and snapped his fingers at him. “I’ll take every racket in that pile there and make it quick,” he said.

“That was completely unnecessary,” Mizuki complained when they left the store carrying an enormous bag of bundled rackets. Mizuki did not sound mad at all despite his words. If there was one thing Atobe had learned over the years it was that buying things for others was far more likely to get them into a good mood than a foul one. The limousine and driver awaited them.

Inside the limo, Atobe lay down with his head on Mizuki’s lap. “You’ll have to make it up to me for wasting my entire afternoon, lovely,” he said. He reached up, sliding fingers through wavy locks of dark purple and then sliding down to stroke along the corner of Mizuki’s mouth.

“Do I now?” Mizuki’s lips parted barely a fraction, just enough for hot breath to dance along the tip of Atobe’s finger. “What did you have in mind?” He allowed that finger to slip inside and grazed it with his teeth before sliding his tongue along it. 

If buying a few rackets turned a normally unsympathetic Mizuki into _this_ , then Atobe really should have bought the entire store.

“What a pleasant surprise. And here I thought you would forever continue to reject me,” Atobe said. “I like this side of you better.” His finger was replaced by his tongue, plundering into Mizuki’s mouth until they were both breathless.

“Mm, I did not reject you,” Mizuki said, leaning in for another taste of Atobe’s lips. “There is quite a difference between rejection and refusing to put my mouth on your genitalia.” He stroked through Atobe’s hair and Atobe purred his approval.

“Good to know you aren’t a prude,” Atobe said. He took Mizuki’s hand and pushed it down between his legs. Mizuki took the cue and rubbed his palm along the fabric. “Ah, yes, press just a bit harder.”

Mizuki listened. “Me, a prude?” The thought seemed to amuse Mizuki. “It’s quite the opposite of that, Atobe-kun,” Mizuki said, flashing his snake-ish smile. “Of course I don't hate sex. The sensations, the smells, the _friction_ … that final eruption of pleasure… how could I hate such a blissful, intimate act?” Mizuki suddenly paused, his hand still pressing on the front of Atobe’s pants. “To be perfectly honest, the only thing I dislike about sex is the scrotum. Obviously it has its practical use, but it's such an ugly, sagging detail that irks me to no end.”

Mizuki’s complaints saw them to Atobe’s home without getting too far into the foreplay.

“Nobody is to interrupt us,” Atobe told Michael the second they stepped in the manor. Mizuki followed, for once not ordering anything from the employees. 

Atobe wished he had had the oversight to call Michael ahead of time and order him to get a room ready. Atobe would’ve wanted the bedroom on the highest floor, the one with the enormous window overlooking the lake. Atobe would also have asked the butler to prepare candles, smoky red ones lining every countertop in the room. Rose petals gently laid out on an inviting bed wouldn’t have been bad either.

But alas, it was too late now and the appendage inside Atobe’s pants was not willing to wait.

He picked a room along the left wing. The walls were a deep turquoise and the corner held an enormous canopy bed, its covers completely smooth and untouched. The fireplace at the other end was dark and empty. In front of it was a rug so plush and thick Atobe knew he could make love on that just as well as on the bed.

“Your dress shirt matches the wallpaper,” Mizuki said.

It was in moments like these that Atobe remembered why he was dating Mizuki.

“How perceptive of you,” Atobe said. He reached for Mizuki’s hips, bringing him closer. Atobe kissed around Mizuki’s cheek, all the way to his ear and worrying at the earlobe with his teeth.

“Of course I noticed,” Mizuki said. “Nice to see you are at least attempting seduction this time.”

Mizuki worked on removing Atobe's clothes, and then Mizuki actually slid down to his knees in front of Atobe. It was at that moment that Atobe knew he would never underestimate the purchasing power of tennis rackets ever again.

* * *

 

The horseback riding had been Mizuki’s idea, but one would’ve never guessed from how much Mizuki was complaining.

“There’s too many flies,” Mizuki said, holding on one rein with a hand and using the other to bat away a bug. “It smells awful in these fields.”

Even Mizuki’s horse, a mare the colour of golden sunset that he had personally picked from Atobe’s stables, appeared to be fed up of Mizuki’s complaints.

“You went too far yesterday, Atobe-kun,” Mizuki said, sitting at a rightward angle. “I’m far too sore for this.”

Okay, that one _was_ Atobe’s fault.

“I was the joke of the club today with how awfully I played tennis. Every step I took was painful,” Mizuki continued. Mizuki’s horse snorted.

“I’m sure you were,” Atobe said.

“And honestly you could have offered me a parasol before we started riding. How often do I have to tell you my skin is delicate and-“

“That’s quite the nice shirt you’re wearing today,” Atobe said.

Mizuki _preened_ , smiling an incredibly self-satisfied grin. “So you noticed. Yes, I do think this dark orchid colour suits me best. Had I known we’d be riding outside, I’d have worn something lighter, but I’m quite pleased with it nonetheless. This shirt matches especially well with these shoes, although they are more of a light mauve shade as you can see.”

Atobe made a thoughtful noise to show he was only partially listening. In all honesty, Mizuki’s clothes were decent. Of course, Atobe’s were so much better if he did say so himself.

Atobe interrupted Mizuki to tell him just that.

Mizuki glared back and disagreed. “Hardly. My shirt exudes refined elegance. Yours is far too flashy, as usual.”

“It is not, you just naturally cannot keep your eyes off of me.”

“I believe you’re the one who can’t keep his eyes – and _hands_ – to himself, Atobe-kun,” Mizuki said pointedly.

“It’s hardly my fault you look better without your clothes, lovely.”

Mizuki appeared unsure whether that last one was a compliment or not. In the end he took it as an insult towards his fashion choice, scoffed and tried racing his horse away. The horse didn’t listen and veered in the opposite direction, nearly running into Atobe’s own steed. That acted as a cue for Mizuki to start complaining about how utterly useless horses were.

“This was your idea,” Atobe pointed out when they dismounted. “If Ore-sama wasn’t so busy, I would offer you lessons.”

“I don’t need lessons. Horses are useless creatures in today’s modern age anyways. They’re very inefficient, don’t listen and they smell far worse than I ever would’ve imagined. I nearly stepped in _manure_ on the way here. Could you imagine how awful that would’ve-“

Atobe kissed him. He sighed at the silence that followed. Atobe wondered if he could somehow keep on kissing Mizuki for long enough to prevent himself from getting a headache. Judging by the way Mizuki was already thrashing and pushing Atobe back with his palms, that wasn’t about to happen.

“Hush,” Atobe told him.

“You are being very rude and-“

“Stop complaining for an hour and I’ll get you tickets to that Italian opera you’re so fond of,” Atobe said.

Mizuki paused, wide-eyed. “Are you _bribing_ me, Atobe-kun?”

“Yes, and it’s going to work,” Atobe said with all the confidence in the world.

Mizuki made a thoughtful noise. His face was a mixture of longing and irritation. He was probably divided between his desire for the opera and his desire to not let Atobe get what he wanted.

“Fine,” Mizuki said, giving in before long. “But make it in a private booth.”

“Done.”

“And I want to be driven there in your white limo. And I want a fully-included meal with champagne while I watch.”

“Done and done.” The deal was sealed with an even shorter kiss. “Come now, the tea should be ready.”

They began walking back, close enough that the backs of their hands brushed against each other’s. Atobe smirked, happy with how easily the negotiation had gone. Mizuki was also smiling, happy to have gained something from this too.

The silence was blissful... or at least it was until Mizuki suddenly stopped walking and gave his loudest, most scandalized gasp. Atobe looked back and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from bursting out in laughter.

Mizuki’s left shoe was completely buried in horse dung. Mizuki trembled in rage, his face turning crimson red. Atobe’s will crumbled and he let out a snicker.

“I hate you,” Mizuki announced and stormed off.


End file.
